


Warning Signs

by Raindropsonwhiskers



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, The TARDIS being petty, ThoscheiLockdown2020, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23239156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raindropsonwhiskers/pseuds/Raindropsonwhiskers
Summary: The Master, or rather, O, decides to travel with the Doctor. She's delighted; the TARDIS, however, is not so pleased, and proceeds to make this the Master's problem.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & The Master (Dhawan), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 107
Collections: Thoschei Lockdown The First 2020





	Warning Signs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FictionPenned](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionPenned/gifts).



> This is a gift for the lovely FictionPenned, as part of the Thoschei Discord 'Keeping Our Sanity During Quarantine' fic and art trade. If you haven't checked out her work, trust me when I say it is amazing!

It wasn't hard for the Master to fool the Doctor, really; she's always been utterly oblivious. He plays the role of a sweet, enthusiastic human so skillfully she doesn't even think to doubt him, and her invitation to join her and her little 'fam' came as no surprise.

However, fooling her ship was a little harder. The instant he steps foot into the TARDIS, he can feel the ship in his mind, a pitchy warning bleeping in the back of his head. He ignores it, plasters an awed look on his face, gushes to the Doctor about how gorgeous her ship is. The warning quiets a little bit; she's always been fond of flattery. But it doesn't go away.

It doesn't go away for a solid week. A week of the Doctor's TARDIS making it impossible for him to think from the piercing tone she's constantly projecting into his mind. He tries shields, music, meditation, anything and everything he can think of to block it out, all to no avail.

Finally, it stops, abruptly and without warning, in the middle of one of their impromptu adventures. The Master nearly collapses from relief.

"You alright, O?" the Doctor asks, turning from the papers she's pouring over.

"Fine," he mutters. He runs a hand through his hair. "Just a little dizzy."

She nods, and looks back to the papers. The Master gets a faint feeling of dread, a shiver down his spine, despite his relief. If the TARDIS has given up on annoying him into leaving, what will she do next?

  
  


Next, apparently, is a series of increasingly irksome assaults on his senses, which as a Time Lord are far more sensitive than those of a human. The lights are always just bright enough to give him a headache. His room - small, bare, and grudgingly given - is unbearably hot. Any food he eats from the TARDIS kitchen has a faint but irritating taste to it, just off enough to get on his nerves.

The Doctor has, unsurprisingly, remained completely oblivious to all of it. The TARDIS is cunning; she knows damn well he can't complain without raising the Doctor's suspicion. Oh, it's tempting to mess with the ship, of course, but that would be even worse. The gentle, oblivious human who almost gets himself kidnapped every other adventure, tampering with the TARDIS? She'd put the pieces together in a heartsbeat, and he doesn't want that. _Yet_ , he doesn't want that yet.

After the unpleasant sensations fail to get rid of him, the TARDIS gets more creative. He wakes up one morning to find his entire carefully cultivated wardrobe replaced with the clothing of the Doctor's previous companions. All his collared shirts, vests, trousers, replaced with a horrifying mishmash of clothing ranging from the 1700s to the early 20-teens. None of it fits. All of it is extremely embarrassing to even _consider_ wearing.

A brief, angry conversation with the ship gets her to shift over to clothing belonging to his previous regenerations. Mostly Missy's dresses and attendant accessories, which bring back all kinds of painful memories and wouldn't even fit, but there are at least some wearable suits mixed in.

The weird look the Doctor gives him when he enters the console room wearing an outfit he's pretty sure came from his blond body is almost worth it, though.

"Why're you in a suit?" she asks, eyes narrowed.

He smiles and shrugs. "It's what your TARDIS had in the closet for me. Wish I knew why."

She ponders this for a moment, then says, "Well, best not to question her. She gets snippy when you do."

 _Don't I know it_ , he thinks, and then she's dragging him and the others off on another trip. He finds that he minds less and less each time.

The next thing the TARDIS tries is a little more direct. After a trip to medieval France that quickly turned into a long, sleepless mission to prevent an invasion, the Master is all too eager to relax a little. He should have known better.

After a peaceful couple of hours spent re-reading old favorite books, he heads into the kitchen for something to snack on. The Doctor's in there, too, messing with what used to be a toaster. Somehow, she's either missing or ignoring the picture of him on the ceiling, helpfully labelled 'Koschei Oakdown'. The Master nearly chokes on his tea when he spots it.

"Oh, O! Didn't know you were in here!" the Doctor smiles, snapping out of whatever hyper-focusing trance she'd been in.

"Well, you know, needed something to drink after today," he says, trying his best to sound casual.

She nods. "Hey, do you want toast? I just fixed the toaster."

"It was broken?"

"It wasn't," she says sheepishly. "Until I broke it. But now it does 10 different levels of toasted-ness and pre-butters the bread!"

He smiles fondly and rolls his eyes. And catches sight of the picture again.

"I'm not hungry right now, Doctor, but thank you," he says. "Think I'll just head back to my room. Been a few days since I got some proper sleep."

For once, it isn't a ruse to keep her from catching on. He is genuinely, bone-deep tired, and he needs some time to think on how to get that picture down from the ceiling. It wouldn't do to blow his cover now, and especially not because the TARDIS was being jealous.

The Doctor bids him a good night, and he leaves as casually as he can. He makes his way back to his room, and as he flops onto his bed, he stares at the ceiling and sees another copy of that damned picture.

"What is your issue?" he demands to the empty air, knowing the TARDIS can hear him. "I'm not dismantling you for parts or trying to kill her. In fact, this whole time, I've been nothing short of courteous. And you have been nothing short of petty. I get it, you don't like me, I don't like you. But these absurd pranks are getting annoying."

He pauses, waiting for a response. All he gets is a distinct feeling of smugness. Sighing, he continues. "If you repeat what I'm about to say to anyone, particularly _her_ , I'll pilot you into the heart of an exploding star and leave you there to burn. I'm not going to hurt her. Travelling with her, like this, is… nice. Even having to hide as a human, having to put up with you, it's worth it. Now, can you _please_ stop trying to expose me?"

The TARDIS hums, then very politely removes the photo from the ceiling. In its place, in the kind of geometrically perfect circular Gallifreyan only a machine could make, is _Just Behave Yourself_.

  
  


The next morning, the Doctor's in the kitchen again when the Master goes to get breakfast.

"The TARDIS seems in a good mood today," she informs him as he puts his bread in the new and dubiously-improved toaster.

"Oh," he says. "That's nice."

"Yeah," she grins. "I'm glad the two of you worked out your issues."

He freezes. There's no way she knows. She would have said something if she knew, wouldn't she? Surely she would. He’s just being paranoid, that’s all. He glances at her, trying to figure out if she knows, and realizes he can’t tell.


End file.
